Entice - Dyken Rachel Van - Страница 42

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My heart about burst.

And I finally knew the difference. Before, I’d thought I’d been in love. It had hurt like hell, but that love? The love I felt for Trace? I realize now it was mostly lust and a deep unrelenting friendship, nothing more. I’d loved her with my whole heart. I still did, but not the way I loved Mil.

I was obsessed with Mil.

I wanted to freaking collect her eyelashes and stare at them like a lunatic — they were that long and beautiful.

Every time she breathed, I was jealous of the air because it was touching parts of her that I hadn’t had a chance to explore.

She was my beginning — my end. The woman I wanted by my side until we were two cranky old people who still carried weapons and shot at squirrels when they ran in front of us.

I wanted a future with her.

I wanted a present with her.

I just wanted her.

“You seem to be thinking really hard.” she whispered.

“How do people survive this?” I asked in a low voice. “How do they survive when someone they love dies? How do they go on when the other half of their soul is missing?”

“A lot don’t,” Mil said in a sad voice. “But us? We’d be fine. You know why?”

“Why?” This I had to hear.

“You’re too much of an ass to go and die on me, and I’m too stubborn to sit around and watch while death defeats you.”

“Oh, good.” I nodded. “So we have a plan then?”

“A plan?”

“Right.” I pulled her hands from my face and clenched them in mine. “We don’t let each other die until it’s time, and when it’s time we die together, notebook-style.”

“Since when do guys watch The Notebook?”

“Since I was given Trace duty for three months, and she slowly tortured me with chick flicks.”

“You cry?”

“Hell no!” I blustered.

“Liar.”

“There were a few tears,” I said gruffly. “But it was more an allergy to the popcorn and… salt.”

“Salt?”

“Leave it, Mil.”

She lifted her hands in innocence.

“We should get dressed, just in case we’re needed. They probably don’t want us running around the hotel naked.”

“Bummer.” Mil dropped her towel.

“Damn it, woman!” I turned around. “Stop trying to give me an early death. I can’t take your nakedness. It makes me horny as hell, and I’m supposed to be holding a gun.”

“Which gun?” she whispered as her hands wrapped around my waist and headed south.

I barely escaped, then I turned and gave her a pointed look. “Clothes. Now.”

“Since when are you the voice of reason, Chase Winter?”

“Since I want my wife to live,” I said seriously. “And since I’ve just had sex with you twice in the past three hours, and I’m pretty sure men’s parts fall off if they use them too much in a ninety-minute period.”

“Misinformation.”

“I’m attached to my parts.”

“Me too.”

“So we’re agreed.” I crossed my arms. “Clothes, then I may let you cuddle, but I get dibs on being the big spoon.”

She seemed to think about it a minute then held out her hand. “Shake on it?”

“Sure!” I said stupidly, reaching for her hand. But it was too late. Before I knew it, my body was again responding to her nakedness, and I felt cold air as my towel dropped. “Oh the hell with it.”

Nixon

“This is so not romancing,” Trace said once we’d reached our room.

I’d promised to romance her, and now we were waiting to see if the hit had been carried out or if Vito was going to pop out of hiding long enough for someone to aim for his head.

“Yeah it is.” I pulled Trace into my arms. “Think of it this way, we get all this time to ourselves.”

“Nixon.” Trace’s irritation was evident in the way her voice lowered. “We’re waiting for death.”

“Only sort of,” I argued. “Come on, admit it, it’s kind of hot.”

“In what way?” she said, exasperated.

“Oh, you know, this could be our last night together.” I grinned smugly. “What would you do if this was your last night with me?”

“It’s still too soon, Nixon,” Trace whispered.

Aw hell, I was trying to lighten the mood, not make her go crazy with worry. I’d done that enough after faking my own murder.

I cleared my throat. “Come here.”

We sat on the bed together. I wrapped my arms around her as she leaned back against me.

“You already know what I did,” I said in a low voice. “I wanted to spend my last moments with you. In your arms, loving you, cherishing you, possessing you. I kept thinking that if it ended badly, if I really did end up dead, the last memory I wanted was of you.”

Trace sighed. “I’d want the same thing. Though I’d probably want it differently.”

“Differently?”

“It’s unfair to give your body and soul to one person, while asking for everything that person has to offer in return, knowing that you may not be able to follow through with the promise you’re making.”

“But I did—”

“You could have died,” she said slowly. “And you were willing to take every part of me with you to that grave. I wouldn’t have moved on. I couldn’t have. While I love Chase, it was never the love I had for you Nixon. So although I don’t blame you, a part of me still hates you for gambling not just your life, but mine too.”

Humbled. All I could do was sit there. Sit and feel like a total and complete ass for doing that to her. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You’re a guy.” She toyed with my hands, twisting my ring around my finger. “You wanted to make me yours, and you did. But you weren’t there to see me after—”

“I saw you in his arms.”

“You pushed me into his arms.” She sighed. “You didn’t see me toy with the gun in my room for the two hours Chase was gone.” My arms stiffened around her. “You didn’t see me point it at myself and then freak out that I was even contemplating something like that. You see, I’ve never been one of those girls, the type that get all dramatic and freaks out. You know me, Nixon. I just… I couldn’t imagine living in a world where you and I weren’t together. The love that I have for you isn’t something that’s going to go away. It’s real. I was lucky enough to have it once — and knew I’d only be getting a sliver of it if I grasped at what Chase was offering. But I was desperate for that completion, because when you left me, you left me broken and he was offering to fix me.”

“The bastard would have ruined you.”

Trace chuckled. “Stop being jealous of something that doesn’t even matter.”

“You’re right.”

“I am?”

I closed my eyes against vision of Trace holding a gun, contemplating suicide, all because I’d been careless with her heart, and careless with her love and trust. I loved that woman. I would die for her. I breathed for her, lived every day to make sure she was happy and safe.

“Trace?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nixon, it’s—”

“I swear, if you say it’s okay, I’m going to lose my shit,” I spat.

“Whoa there.” She snuggled closer to me. “I was going to say it’s fine.”

“It will be,” I vowed.

“What?”

“Marry me.”

I’d never truly understood the expression of air being thick with tension. I mean, I’d been in some pretty freaking tense situations but nothing, nothing compared to the way my heart was ramming against my chest when Trace didn’t respond right away. Did I just propose? Was she really not answering? My hands began to sweat as I waited for the woman to say something, damn it, anything!

Finally… just as my heart was getting ready to give out, I felt her shudder against me. Holy shit, was she crying? Was the idea of marrying me making her that upset?

And then her arms flew around my neck as she twisted her body in my lap and began sobbing against my chest. “I love you s-so much! Of course I’ll marry you!”

I exhaled and dropped a few expletives before I was able to form a sentence. “I swear you just took fifteen years off my life.”

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